


The Story

by UAgirl



Category: Passions
Genre: AU, Character Death, F/M, Language, Mystery, Sexual Situations, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UAgirl/pseuds/UAgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how one night fifteen years ago forever changed the lives of four families.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue, Lightning Strikes

**Author's Note:**

> Title: The Story  
> Rating: PG-13(?)  
> Warnings: Sexual situations  
> Characters/Pairings: Julian/Suzanne, Sheridan  
> Word Count: 982  
> Summary (for chapter): a stormy night, fifteen years earlier

Prologue 

 

 

Lightning Strikes 

 

 

 

Fifteen Years Earlier 

 

 

 

Suzanne—brunette, busty, barely twenty years old—wasn’t the most experienced lover Julian Crane had ever had in his thirty-plus years of existence (far from it), but she was one of the most eager. The current Miss Harmony’s enthusiasm was going to be the death of him—literally—if she moved her greedy little hand an inch higher on his thigh. “Suzanne, pet,” he protested half-heartedly as her fingers continued their creeping, “we’re almost there. I can’t…” 

 

Toying with his leather belt, Suzanne giggled at his shiver when her lips brushed his ear lobe, and she would have continued her sweet torture if the car hadn’t swerved dangerously, tossing her back against her seat and tumbling her dark hair into her playfully glittering eyes. “Oh, but you can.” 

 

Reading her predatory intent with a glance, Julian closed his eyes with a stifled moan, jerking them back open a second later when he felt her supple lips attach themselves to his neck. He uttered a silent prayer of gratitude that the lengthy driveway that traveled from the fringes of Harmony to the sprawling Crane estate was such a solitary road and there was no oncoming traffic to navigate around as the car veered to and fro in the rain-soaked night. The frantic whirring of the windshield wipers did little to improve the dreadful visibility, and while Julian loved his women just as much as his drink, he didn’t relish the idea of dying for the sake of some action below the belt. With a regretful sigh, he gently pushed Suzanne back into her own seat, a chastising frown on his lips. “What’s wrong? This was your idea.” 

 

Pouting, Suzanne crossed her arms across her ample chest, looking forlornly out the passenger window just in time to see a brilliant flash of lightning zigzag across the midnight sky. “Yeah, like this is so romantic: taking your mistress home to meet your wife.” 

 

“My wife,” Julian spat the title with disdain, “is visiting her father.” 

 

“What about your kids?” Suzanne turned in her seat to regard him, her childish pout somewhat diminished. 

 

“They’re with their mother,” Julian responded, glad his answer seemed to appease her and she looked less like his toddler daughter and more like the nubile young woman he’d seduced into his bed only months earlier. 

 

“So your father-in-law used to be the governor,” Suzanne remarked with interest. “You married the governor’s daughter.” 

 

Julian simply arched a brow at her deduction, silently reminding himself it wasn’t her brilliant brain that had enticed him in the first place, and concentrated on the blurry road in front of him. 

 

“I remember thinking she looked like a princess in all her pictures. Your wedding looked so romantic.” 

 

Romantic? Hardly. His wedding to Ivy had been a farce, just like their marriage. Still, Suzanne had hit upon one truth Julian had never been able to deny. “My wife is beautiful.” Feeling the heat of Suzanne’s stare, he elaborated, “A beautiful, cold-hearted bitch.” To his amazement, Suzanne seemed unfazed by his harsh words. When she simply giggled girlishly in response and scooted closer once more, all his previous protests were forgotten. His breath rasped tortuously from his dry throat when she worked the button of his slacks free with her talented fingers and his white knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel fiercely, the car careening down the road, the sparsely spaced trees lining its edges nothing but shadows intermittently illuminated by flashes of brilliant light. 

 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

 

Too far gone, Julian could only grit out, “Almost there.” 

 

Smirking at the double meaning of his words, Suzanne placed her mouth at his pulse point and teased, “I know.” 

 

The car’s headlights cut a yellow, fragmented path in front of them through the downpour, and through heavy-lidded eyes Julian could see the imposing but completely dark structure the Cranes had called home for nearly a hundred years looming. And in front of the house… 

 

“Hey!” Suzanne cried out, bracing herself against the dashboard of the car when Julian forcibly braked the car to a screeching stop, and all she could hear over the pounding of the rain on the car’s roof was the shallow, stuttering stall of her lover’s breath beside her. “Julian?” she grasped Julian’s arm as he fumbled to open the door. “What the hell’s going on here?” she cried over the din of the storm as she followed Julian’s suit and got out of the car, the rain drenching her in an instant. 

 

A child stood, still as a statue not two feet in front of the car, her hands held out in front of her, palm up, her golden curls plastered to her head and her flimsy white nightgown clinging to legs that were short and bare. The next flash of lightning showed that her blue eyes were unfocused and the pale skin of her hands and neck was dark. 

 

Suzanne watched in bewilderment as Julian dropped to his knees in front of the child and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. 

 

“Sheridan! Sheridan, look at me,” Julian urged, one hand leaving the thin, trembling shoulder to touch the small chin, the other coaxing her into the meager swath of light the car’s twin headlights offered. 

 

“Oh my God,” Suzanne gasped, hand going to her mouth. “Oh my God.” Turning from the surreal scene in front of her, she closed her eyes, stifling the scream that threatened to escape. The heavy rain pounded and pricked like needles at her skin, but she wasn’t aware of it as she stumbled forward, violently losing the contents of her stomach as the seconds’ old memory played and replayed before her eyes and a child’s plaintive cries bubbled forth with growing hysteria. 

 

“I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to do it! I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO IT!”


	2. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it was the day the last of the lost Cranes, including one Mr. Fox Crane, found their way home, the day they started turning the little town of Harmony on its head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Story, Coming Home  
> Rating: PG   
> Warnings: Some mild swearing  
> Characters/Pairings: Hank/Beth, Noah, Jessica/Reese, Pretty, Fancy, Ethan, (blink and you'll miss it) Kay/Fox, Luis  
> Word Count: 6,457  
> Summary (for chapter): Because it was the day the last of the lost Cranes, including one Mr. Fox Crane, found their way home, the day they started turning the little town of Harmony on its head.

Chapter 1 

 

 

Coming Home 

 

 

Present Day 

 

 

 

Hank Bennett stepped into The Blue Note, blinking against the smoky haze and searching the sea of bodies for one in particular: his drunk-off-his-ass, dead-if-his-Police Chief-father-caught-him nephew Noah. He was so busy scanning the dimly-lit joint and the music from the jukebox in the corner was so loud, he startled when a small hand grabbed his arm and a familiar voice spoke (shouted) from behind him. 

“He’s not here!” Beth Wallace, longtime friend and one time (for the span of a few short days in high school when she’d wanted to make their mutual friend Luis jealous) girlfriend, gave his arm a firm tug, pulling him back in the direction he had come from and out the door. 

When they were outside and Hank could hear himself think again, he acknowledged what she had said with a confused frown. “What do you mean he’s not here? You’re the one who called me.” 

“Relax,” Beth chastised him with a roll of her eyes. Fishing a ring of keys out of the deep pocket of the short, serviceable apron she wore tied around her waist, she placed them in his palm. “I took his keys.” 

Hank breathed an audible sigh of relief, quickly pocketing the keys before running a hand through his unruly brown hair and muttering just loud enough for Beth to hear, “Dumbass kid.” 

Beth refrained from smirking at Hank’s worried uncle act but was quick to remind him, “You were a million times worse.” 

“Maybe so,” Hank admitted unapologetically. “But my father wasn’t the letter of the law in these parts, and I didn’t do my under-aged drinking in the bar where a friend of the family worked.” 

Now Beth did smirk, unable to deny the truth of his statement, remembering the days of their misspent youth and how Hank had refused to be kept in line, no matter how hard Luis had tried. “No, you didn’t.” They shared a quiet laugh over the mutual memories, falling into step as Beth led him to a far corner of the parking lot and nodded at the worn-out sedan that, like their friendship, dated back to their teenaged years. Producing another set of keys, these from her jeans, she opened the driver’s side door and motioned for him to get in the vehicle. “He’s at my place. I promised Reese I’d special order that latest science fiction series he’s been rattling on and on about if he would smuggle Noah there in one safe and sound piece.” 

Picking up a battered leather baseball glove from the passenger seat and tossing it into the backseat, Hank settled in, cinching the seat belt across his hips. “Wait a minute,” he thought out loud. “Isn’t Jess…” 

“She is,” Beth answered him distractedly, her concentration focused on backing the compact car out of its parking place and navigating around the tipsy group of college-aged girls that were stumbling aimlessly behind her. “She probably won’t tell,” she told him when they were on the road. 

“Why not?” Hank wondered, following Beth’s example and rolling his window down to let the cool (well, as close to cool as it got in Harmony in the summer) night air caress his face. “If it were Kay, I‘d say it was because her brother had handed her some prime blackmail material, but with Jess, I don’t know what her motivation not to tell would be. She’s Sam and Grace’s golden girl.” 

“I’m not saying she isn’t,” Beth wore an enigmatic smile. “Just call it woman’s intuition. She won’t tell,” she insisted. She laughed a little when the confused frown made a repeat appearance before Hank started to connect the dots and let out an appalled exclamation. 

“You’re kidding me!” 

“I’m not,” Beth responded, killing the engine and the lights when they’d arrived at their destination. “And don’t you bug her about it either.” 

“I can’t believe she likes the Reese Man. He’s so…” Hank trailed off searchingly, at a loss for words as he followed Beth to the back of the building that housed the Book Café and the narrow set of steps that led to the second-floor apartment above it. 

“Sweet,” Beth shot over her shoulder, her boots clattering against the stairs underfoot. Then, turning around to hide her smile, she mock-sternly scolded him, “Stop staring at my ass, Hank.” 

“The word I was thinking of was geeky,” Hank retorted. “And what do you expect me to do when it’s right there and it’s so…” He didn’t finish, because they were at the landing, and Beth was fitting her key in the door, brow arched and daring him to continue. He did continue, just down a slightly different path. “I always wondered what you saw in Luis when you could have had me.” 

“Hank,” Beth gave him an affectionate smile. 

“Beth,” Hank grinned back, allowing her a brief glimpse of his heart in his eyes before reaching out a hand and pushing the door open gently. “After you, m’lady.” 

They walked into the kitchen, and Jessica sprang up from her seat at the table, a faint blush over her cheeks when she spied her uncle. An oblivious Reese continued to chew thoughtfully on the cookie in his hand as he mumbled a greeting. 

“Uncle Hank, I didn’t know you were coming home,” Jessica hugged him awkwardly. 

Over his youngest niece’s shoulder, Hank looked to Beth then Reese, with his glass of milk and cookie crumbs, and back to Beth again with disbelief in his eyes, but Beth only shook her head with a subtle warning in her dancing eyes. “Nobody knew but Beth.” At the look of censure in Jessica’s eyes when she pulled back, he defended himself. “I literally just got back. I was planning on stopping by in the morning. I barely got checked into the inn before I got Beth’s call.” 

Jessica’s eyes softened when Beth spoke up, vouching for Hank, and her arms went around Hank in a tighter, more enthusiastic hug. 

“Cookie, Ms. Wallace?” Reese piped up, charitably holding up the last one before making short work of it when Beth declined. He choked, gulping down the rest of his milk though when Hank commenced to toy with him. 

“I wanted that.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t…” 

“I’m joking with you, Reese,” Hank said, slapping the boy lightly on the back. “Thanks,” he said, taking the carton of milk Jessica had retrieved from the refrigerator and refilling Reese’s glass, “for helping out tonight.” 

“Sure,” Reese croaked, when his coughing had subsided and he was able to form words again. He sipped thankfully at the milk while wiping at the tears that streamed from the corner of his eyes. 

Hank looked to Beth for help when Jessica sent him a none-too-subtle glare. 

“Jessica?” Beth questioned, turning toward the living room where the faint glow of the television could be seen. 

“Teeth brushed. Pj’s on,” Jessica replied, handing Reese a napkin and studiously ignoring her uncle. “I told him he could play a couple of video games with Noah before he went to bed. It was the only way we could convince Noah to stay while we waited for you.” 

“Did your brother happen to mention what his problem was?” Hank grumbled, not waiting for an answer as he stepped around Beth, on a mission to talk some sense into the kid. “He’s been home from college what? Two days?” 

Jessica shrugged at Beth, but it was Reese that shed some much-needed light on the situation. 

“He said his girlfriend broke up with him.” 

“I didn’t know Noah had a girlfriend,” Jessica remarked, rounding on Reese in surprise. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” 

“Didn’t know it was so important,” Reese muttered, an embarrassed flush quickly traveling across his cheeks. 

“Reese, why don’t you take Jessica home?” Beth suggested, crossing the kitchen and lifting the lid off of a small glass jar filled with change and small bills. Withdrawing a few bills from the jar, she placed them in Jessica’s palm and promised, “Breakfast at the Book Café is on me for the rest of the week.” 

“You don’t have to,” Jessica started to protest, only to be cut off by Reese. 

“Gee, thanks, Ms. Wallace.” 

“Reese,” Jessica discreetly pinched his arm. 

“Ouch!” Reese hissed before cluelessly asking, “What?” 

Holding back a laugh, Beth instead smiled at the young teens, gently guiding them both toward the door. “Drive safely. Next week, Jess?” 

“Next week,” Jessica affirmed. “Do you mind if I come by early? I promised Paloma I’d help her get things ready for day camp out at the Y. Luis will be there and Coach Russell. My dad, too.” 

“I’m sure he’d like that,” Beth said by way of agreement. “Remember what I said.” 

“No worries, Ms. Wallace,” Reese vowed. “I swear to act safely and responsibly behind the wheel.”

Beth’s lips twitched at Jessica’s shy smile when Reese prompted her to precede him down the stairs, and she watched until the taillights of the boy’s car had disappeared down the near-deserted street before closing the door and going back inside. Straightening up a few things along the way, she stepped into her living room and could only shake her head when she met Hank’s helplessly amused brown eyes. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Hank held out his hands in supplication. On the television screen behind him, a car crash played on endless loop. 

Beth gathered from the television remote Hank held in one hand that he had killed the volume, and for that, at least, she was thankful, but the fact that Noah Bennett was sprawled across her sofa, passed out cold, was another issue entirely. “Hank.” 

“I already tried to move him,” Hank defended himself. “He’s much heavier than he looks.” When Beth looked unconvinced, he decided to switch tactics, hopefully putting himself back in her good graces. “I did manage to safely extract the kidlet.” He moved aside, allowing her a glimpse of the much smaller body curled up in her ratty old armchair. 

“Oh, Evan,” Beth sighed, kneeling before the chair and brushing the little boy’s dark hair back from his forehead. A pair of large, dark eyes fluttered open and she was greeted with her son’s sleepy smile. 

“Mommy?” 

Beth smiled at him lovingly; the times he called her Mommy instead of Mom were growing less and less frequent, and she held fast to each and every one. “It’s past your bedtime, Mister Man.” That comment earned her Evan’s token rebuttal for just about everything these days, only his drowsiness took a little bit of the sting off of it. 

“I’m nine years old, Mom.” Rubbing his eyes with his fists, Evan struggled to sit up, barely acknowledging Hank as he craned his neck around Beth’s shoulder to confirm to himself that Noah was still there. “I’m glad you took away his keys,” he said seriously, “because he can’t drive. I beat him every time.” 

“You’re not the only one,” Hank muttered, trying with some difficulty to at least arrange Noah in a more comfortable, natural position, to no avail. “You and me are going to have a little talk in the morning about what brought this on,” he huffed as he managed to push Noah’s boneless legs back onto the sofa.

“Not what,” Beth told him, standing with her son’s arms draped over her shoulders and his growing legs stretching halfway down her body, “who.” Gladly transferring Evan’s weight to Hank when he offered, she informed him of Reese’s revelation as she led him toward the boy’s bedroom. “Apparently, his girlfriend dumped him.” 

“Ouch,” Hank winced sympathetically. As soon as Beth had pulled the blue comforter back on the bed, he laid the child down, watching in the darkness as she fussed over him and tucked the covers neatly under his chin and around his shoulders. “Guess it’s true,” he mused in a low voice. 

“Hmm,” Beth hummed, placing a hand on his arm to steady herself when she stumbled across an errant sneaker at the foot of the small twin bed. They were back in the hallway, and she could see that Evan had left the light on in the bathroom before she realized she hadn’t let go of Hank yet. Dropping her hand, she hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans and looked into brown eyes that she swore never lost that perpetual hint of a twinkle. “You guess what’s true?” 

“We all have to grow up sometime.” 

Mentally shrugging off the momentary feeling of loss his words invoked—her baby was still her baby, dammit, now and for always, Beth couldn’t curb her tongue from retorting, “Everybody but you.” 

“Easy,” Hank placated, as if reading her mind. “I was talking about Noah. She must be something, this girl of his.” He watched as she turned the bathroom light off, but not before replacing the cap on the toothpaste and glancing at her own tired reflection in the mirror. “Kid’s usually the one doing the dumping, not the other way around.” 

“Always the heartbreaker, never the one whose heart was broken,” Beth sighed. She felt for Noah. Really, she did. But too many times, she’d been at the mercy of his type, those heartbreakers—except for the one time a little voice inside her head reminded her, and her sympathy only went so far, and she told Hank so. “Has it occurred to you he deserved to be dumped? Maybe he did something, said something. I know he’s a good kid, but none of us are perfect, Hank.” 

Their years of friendship had enabled Hank to easily read what she was thinking most times, and he knew the road her thoughts her traveling in that moment had been visited many, many times in the past and the what-ifs and possibilities opened up by another choice besides the one she had made so long ago were endless. Casting a friendly arm across her shoulders, he hugged her close to his side and pressed his mouth briefly against her temple, stirring the soft hair there with his kiss. “Who wants to be perfect? Perfection’s boring, not to mention exhausting to maintain; flaws are much more interesting, more fun.” 

Beth smiled gratefully, turning suddenly and casting her arms about his neck in a fierce hug, the likes of which she hadn’t given him since the first time he left Harmony in search of that initial grand adventure of his. “You should stay this time.” Then more softly, she admitted, “I miss you when you’re gone.” His mouth was close to her ear, and when he spoke, answering her, she found she couldn’t control the shiver that sprang forth, even as his remark had her punching his shoulder in playful exasperation. 

“Miss me enough to sleep with me?” 

Beth could only roll her eyes. “You’re so full of it.” 

“I never realized you had such a dirty mind,” Hank grinned, winking at her and rubbing at his shoulder. “I wasn’t suggesting anything other than sharing a bed like two adults and getting some much-needed shut-eye. Unless you want to help me move that poor, snoring slob in there, I don’t see any other option. The kidlet’s bed isn’t made for two, and my car’s back at The Blue Note.” 

“Okay,” Beth relented with a small groan, “but you have to sleep on the left side. And promise not to hog all the covers,” she added, not a breath later. 

Hank opened his mouth to reply to her, but he was cut off by a warning so vehement he could only laugh—inwardly, of course. 

“And if you even come close to making that God-forsaken noise, I swear I’ll smother you with a pillow.” 

 

~*~ 

 

Pretty Crane lingered in the doorway of her sister’s bedroom, shaking her head in disbelief. Without invitation, she entered the private domain, ignoring the little voice that reminded her that she and her sister had never been close enough to enjoy such liberties with each other, and walked up to the rumpled, unmade bed where only the top of her sister’s blond head was visible. She lay a tentative hand on what she assumed to be her sister’s shoulder. “Whoever he is, Fancy, he’s not worth it.” She stumbled back, startled, when suddenly, she found a pair of tear-reddened blue eyes boring into her. 

“Go away, Pretty,” Fancy glowered, pushing herself up on one elbow, clenching a wadded Kleenex in her other hand. When Pretty didn’t budge, seemingly challenging her, she groaned, flopping onto her back and staring up at the ceiling like it was the most fascinating thing in the world to her. “How would you know anyway,” she wondered aloud, certain that in the year they had spent separated from each other, she in college and Pretty in that dreadful boarding school, that their experiences had been wholly different. “You’re hardly what I’d call an expert.” Fancy heard her sister’s breath hitch as if she’d been struck, and she felt a moment’s guilt before she quickly squashed it down. Sure, maybe the words had been mean, but they were the truth, and both girls knew it. “Pretty,” she finally sighed, turning her head to the side but drawing the line at reaching out her hand. 

Knowing the gesture was as close to an apology as she was going to get, Pretty simply nodded her head in acknowledgment, smoothing a hand over the crumpled duvet, her fingertips pulling back when they encountered Fancy’s silenced cell phone. Curiously, she opened the phone, her brown eyes widening in astonishment. “Twenty-three missed calls! Fancy, what…” 

“Give me that,” Fancy snatched the pink phone from her hands, burrowing it under her pillow and out of sight. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Pretty’s eyes narrowed again with the dawning realization. “Why would you do something to yourself that would make you so miserable?” 

“Pretty, you wouldn’t understand,” Fancy muttered, face hidden behind her hands. 

“No, I don’t,” Pretty scowled. “You’ve been barricaded up here ever since you got home, crying your eyes out, making me feel sorry for you, and now I find out it’s nobody’s fault but your own. No, I certainly don’t understand.” 

“Pretty,” Fancy dropped her hands to her lap, watching her sister turn to leave, full of righteous anger, and felt compelled to explain herself, to plead her own case, but Pretty’s step never faltered, not even when Fancy scrambled from the bed to follow her. “Pretty. Pretty, wait,” she ran out into the hallway, just in time to catch a glimpse of her sister’s glossy blond head disappearing around the corner and she cried out in alarm when she felt a hand touch her elbow. She whirled around, only to be confronted with her brother’s laughing blue eyes. “Ethan!” she hurled his name at him in accusation. 

“Just like old times,” Ethan merely smiled back at her. 

“Yeah,” Fancy rubbed her hands briskly up and down her exposed arms. “Home, sweet home,” she muttered sarcastically, frowning at the realization she was standing in the hallway in her pajamas with her brother and morning was quickly edging toward afternoon. “What are you so happy about?” she grumbled, not surprised at all when Ethan trailed her blindly into her bedroom. 

“Didn’t Pretty tell you?” Ethan looked confused. “She was supposed to tell you.” 

“Okay,” Fancy grabbed a pillow from her bed, hugging it to her chest for warmth as she regarded her brother quizzically. “I give up. What was Pretty supposed to tell me?” 

“That we were driving out to the airstrip to meet Gwen, and we’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up and get dressed,” Ethan stated matter-of-factly. Noting the blank look on her face, he made the likely deduction, “You forgot.” 

Fancy felt like screaming into her pillow but gave her brother an apologetic smile instead. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t realize...well, with the wedding still two months away, I just thought…I’m sorry,” she finally finished lamely, chagrined at her own preoccupation. 

“It’s okay,” Ethan easily accepted her apology, a deep furrow developing between his brows. “Fancy, you know you can talk to me if something’s bothering you, right?” 

Fancy felt a genuine smile threatening to escape and allowed her brother’s awkward hug. They weren’t close. None of them really were, except maybe Ethan and Aunt Sheridan, but she liked to think they cared, each of them in their own way. She’d make things up with Pretty, hopefully later, but right now she had a promise to keep. If she was going to be a bridesmaid in the wedding, it was past time to get to know the bride a little better in her estimation. “I’ll hurry. I promise,” she vowed, slipping from his arms and backing toward her bathroom. 

“Famous last words,” Ethan groaned. “Fifteen minutes, Fancy. That’s it. We’ll be waiting for you downstairs.” 

Fifteen minutes stretched into twenty-five by the time Fancy descended the winding staircase to find Pretty waiting for her, her mouth compressed into a tight line. “Where’s Ethan?” Fancy questioned, falling into step with Pretty as they exited the house through the servants’ entrance, to a waiting SUV and an expressionless man whose eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. 

“He took the Porsche,” Pretty answered, opening the passenger door and climbing inside, “said he knew you’d take too long.”

“Ten measly minutes,” Fancy huffed under her breath, barely having time to settle herself in the back seat before the vehicle was moving, all without a word of greeting from their driver. “A little warning would be nice,” she grumbled, not failing to notice the barely perceptible smirk curling the stranger’s lips. Crossing her arms across her chest indignantly, she noticed Pretty purse her lips and caught her sister’s brown eyes in the reflection of the rear-view mirror before she spoke. 

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Pretty turned in her seat, tucking her long hair behind her ear then holding out a hand that went ignored. “I’m Pretty. And she’s my rude sister Fancy,” she said, tossing her head at Fancy by way of introduction. 

“I’m not the one being rude here,” Fancy bristled, when their driver remained tight-lipped, causing Pretty to look affronted. “What’s wrong with you? Can you speak or not?” 

“Put your seatbelts on.” 

“What is that? Some kind of order? Who do you think you are, telling us what to do?” Fancy frowned, grabbing at Pretty’s hand when she cinched her safety belt low over her hips. “Pretty, you don’t have to listen to him.” 

“Fine, don’t listen to me then,” the man shrugged, large hands gripping the steering wheel with confidence. “But know this…my brother patrols this road, and he won’t hesitate to pull this vehicle over.”

“Fine,” Fancy rolled her eyes. “I’ll put on the damned seatbelt. Happy?” 

“Ecstatic.” 

“If you won’t tell us your name,” Pretty tried again, gamely, “maybe you’ll tell us your brother’s name.” 

In the backseat, Fancy snidely remarked, “Nice try, Pretty. Way to break the ice.” Tugging her purse into her lap, Fancy withdrew her vibrating phone, flipping it open only to immediately close it again. “You’re brilliant conversationalists. Both of you.” 

“Is she always like this?” 

“You have no idea,” Pretty took the opening and run with it, her brown eyes sizing up the man opposite her and liking what she saw. He was tall and lean but muscular, with strong, broad shoulders. His black hair was a little long, curling just above the collar of the black tee-shirt stretched tautly across his well-defined chest. And his eyes…well, his eyes were hidden from her, but his lips were currently curved upward in the slightest of smiles, and Pretty blushed at the realization that he was completely aware of her silent assessment of him. A quick glance in the rearview mirror at her sister’s rolling eyes told her that he wasn’t the only one who had caught her looking. Biting her lip and nervously twirling a strand of her hair between her fingertips, she looked out the window to watch the unfamiliar landscape of Harmony pass them by. She was still working up the courage to speak to him again when Fancy’s phone buzzed, yet again, from the backseat. 

“Hey!” Fancy cried when Pretty snatched her phone from her hands before she could answer, or in this case, not answer it. “Give me that!” She unbuckled her seatbelt, scrambling to snatch the phone back from her sister’s greedy hands, to no avail. Pretty was too quick and elusive, turning her knees toward the passenger door and holding the phone at arm’s length as she read the number displayed on the screen out loud. She was so focused on its retrieval, she failed to notice the way their nameless driver’s brow arched in recognition. 

“555-2013. It’s the same number. Over and over,” Pretty declared, shaking her head and refusing to relinquish the phone, squirming in her seat, always keeping the phone just out of Fancy’s reach. 

Finally, fed up with the sisters’ juvenile antics, the man plucked the phone out of Pretty’s grasp and tucked it into his jeans pocket, barking, “Enough!” He didn’t bother to hide the smirk on his lips this time as both blondes favored him with astounded expressions. All was blessedly quiet in the car, for the next several seconds at least, and then the bickering resumed. 

“You neanderthal,” came Fancy’s blistering retort. “Do you even have a clue who we are?” 

“I may not be an expert,” Pretty’s mouth pinched angrily as she glared at her sister’s reflection in the rear view mirror, “but at least I draw the line at using the Crane name as a threat.” 

“Maybe if you used the Crane name more often,” Fancy’s tongue was as sweet as it was sour, and Pretty winced satisfyingly in reaction, “you’d actually have some juicy material to write in your diary about. Grant Kelley smiled at me today. Seriously, Pretty,” Fancy tsked. 

“You’re such a bitch,” Pretty moaned, wrapping her arms protectively around herself and staring straight ahead, desperately fighting off tears of humiliation. 

Guilt sobered Fancy, and she opened her mouth to mutter an apology only to find a pair of angry brown eyes staring her down in the mirror’s reflection, and a quiet, steely voice give a warning. 

“Knock it off.” Having reached their destination, he pulled the car up next to the vacated Porsche and nodded at Ethan Crane’s wave as he killed the SUV’s engine. Pretty bolted from the vehicle at the first opportunity, stationing herself next to her brother as a small plane taxied down the rudimentary runway boasted by Harmony’s one and only airstrip, and he followed her example, opening Fancy’s door and offering the sullen blond his hand. Predictably, she refused his gesture, and he shrugged. “No skin off my nose.” 

Sliding out of the car and standing toe to toe with him, Fancy narrowed her blue eyes critically. “I’ll find out your name,” she finally said. “Grampy will fire you so fast…” She attempted to stalk past him but was held fast when he snagged her by the arm, reeling her back in. 

If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man a thousand times over. “Here, before you accuse me of stealing it,” he chuckled, fishing her phone out of his jeans pocket and dropping it unexpectedly in her palm. He let her arm go as she was wrenching it free, and the end result was nothing short of comical as she stumbled clumsily away from him. Quietly, so she couldn’t hear, he muttered, “Your grandfather can’t touch me, Fancy Pants. I don’t work for him.” Thank God for that, he mused, deciding to stretch his legs a little before round two started and he was expected to play the part of chauffeur again. He hadn’t gone far before he heard a happy exclamation that made his own heartbeat skip dangerously. 

“Aunt Sheridan!” 

 

 

~*~ 

 

It was beautiful. Sleek and streamlined, with leather and a sound system to die for, it was the car of Kay Bennett’s dreams. And it just so happened to be illegally parked in the only handicapped space the Book Café boasted. Head still turned in admiration as she pushed through the store’s entrance, she absently greeted Beth, “Whose wheels?” 

From behind the cash register where she was carefully counting out a customer’s change, Beth answered, “I don’t know, but if Luis sees it…” 

Kay smiled. Luis Lopez-Fitzgerald was the only cop in Harmony that took his job more seriously than her father, and that was saying something, especially considering that her father was the Police Chief. The possibility that Luis might happen along and take pen to paper in such a way seemed more than a befitting punishment. She momentarily lost herself in daydreams of how it would go down while she waited for Beth to finish with her customer, and she startled when Beth cleared her throat. 

“Kay,” Beth repeated, not bothering to hide the knowing smile on her face from the fantasizing teen. 

The stars in Kay’s eyes cleared, and she focused sharply on the woman in front of her, gratefully taking the steaming cup of coffee she had ready and waiting. “So,” Kay took a cautious sip. “Where’s my loser brother?” 

Beth came around the counter to join Kay, untying the apron around her waist and signaling to Paloma that she was taking a break. “Upstairs. I sent Evan up to check on him almost half an hour ago.” 

“Do you think he’s okay?” Kay wondered. They were outside now, and a car horn beeped. Kay raised a hand to wave, recognizing a classmate from school, before turning her full attention back on Beth where she stood, at the base of her apartment’s steps. 

“Don’t worry,” Beth joked lightly. “Evan knows to call 9-1-1 if he’s not breathing.” Touching Kay’s elbow reassuringly, she said more seriously, “I’m sure he’s fine. Evan’s probably up there trying to talk him into a rematch of last night. Your brother seems to have lost his touch with the video games.” 

Kay seemed unimpressed. “I’ve always wiped the floor with him.” 

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Beth laughed, leading Kay up the stairs and pausing outside of the door. “With his gene pool, I’m not sure how he’d react.” 

It was Kay’s turn to smile knowingly. She disguised her expression by taking a generous drag from the cup cradled in her hands. 

Opening the door for Kay, Beth turned to go. “Gotta get back. Send Evan back down, will you?” 

Kay nodded her agreement and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Blinking to let her eyes adjust to Beth’s more dimly lit abode, she called out, “Noah? Evan?” She found the pair in the living room, Evan boredly running the vacuum cleaner back and forth over the carpet while Noah slouched against the pillows of the sofa, keeping an eye on the cell phone in his lap while busily punching in numbers on Beth’s cordless phone. Kay slumped down beside her brother, leaning her chin over his shoulder to spy on him as he dialed the unfamiliar number. Glancing back up at Evan, she questioned Noah, “How much you paying him?” 

“Not enough,” Evan grumbled. 

“Minimum wage,” Noah said without looking up from Beth’s phone. His silver blue eyes, however, zeroed in on his sister not two seconds later when inspiration struck. “You have your phone on you?” 

Kay rolled her eyes, draining the rest of her cup before setting it down on the coffee table. “You’re the one that called me. What do you think?” 

“I’m not cleaning the bathroom,” Evan wrinkled his nose, remembering the scene earlier that morning, when he’d padded out of his bedroom on his bare feet and discovered his mom and his uncle Hank arguing over who would do the honors. In just his boxers and wrinkled tee-shirt, Noah had been crouched on the cold tile floor hugging the toilet like Evan used to hug his old teddy bear. His mom won the argument (like she always did), and Hank had cleaned the bathroom before dragging/half-carrying Noah back to the sofa. Shortly thereafter, his mom had driven Uncle Hank back to his car, giving Evan strict instructions to call 9-1-1 if Noah quit breathing. He’d poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat in the old armchair with its sagging cushions watching Noah for nearly twenty minutes before his mom got back and took him downstairs with her to the Book Café. He never did have to call 9-1-1. “That’s slave labor.” 

Ignoring both Kay’s sarcasm and Evan’s disgruntlement, Noah looked pointedly at his sister and repeated his question. 

Kay barely had time to get her phone out of her jeans pocket before it was in Noah’s hands and ringing, the same unfamiliar number punched in. A female voice answered, and Noah leapt from the sofa, raking a hand through his disheveled dark hair and speaking pleadingly as he headed down the hall. 

“Fancy? It’s me. Please don’t hang up.” 

When Kay looked at Evan, the kid merely shrugged and reminded her not to prop her feet on the coffee table. “Beat it, Elf. Your mom wants you downstairs.”

Evan frowned. “Don’t call me that.” 

“I’ve always called you that.” 

“I don’t like it.” 

Kay grinned obnoxiously. “I know.” Seconds later, the door slammed behind Evan, and she could hear the telltale stomping of his sneakers down the steps outside. The smile on her lips faded, however, when her brother reappeared, looking like he’d lost his best friend. Or maybe… “Who’s Fancy? Your girlfriend?” 

Noah looked shocked, for about a millisecond, then he admitted the obvious. “Ex-girlfriend if she has anything to say about it.”

“What did you do?” 

“Who says I did anything?” Noah grew angry. “All I did was ask to meet her family. She blew me off like I wasn’t good enough, we got into an argument, and now she’s not taking my calls.” 

Kay touched her brother’s arm. “You asked to meet her family?” 

Noah nodded miserably. 

“When were we going to get to meet her?” Kay quizzed, completely intrigued by this mystery girl who had her brother at his wit’s end. She’d never seen him so serious about anyone of the female gender. Girls, up until this point, had been merely a fun distraction for Noah while he breezed through his schooling. 

Noah sighed. “I’d hoped soon. She’s home for her brother’s wedding this summer, and we’d talked about it, and she seemed okay. Then this happens.” He threw up his hands, standing up and pacing toward the window. 

Kay studied her brother as he stared outside the window, watching the lazy afternoon traffic crawl through Harmony, and her mind puzzled over the situation until a possibility occurred to her. “The way you said she’s home…” she trailed off, standing up and walking halfway to meet her brother, squinting as she stepped into a shaft of too-bright sunlight. “Noah, is Fancy here? In Harmony?” It turned out Fancy was in Harmony, was actually from Harmony, though how Kay had spent her entire life in a town as small as Harmony and not crossed paths with a girl possessing a name as distinctive as Fancy she didn’t know. They talked, Kay and Noah, and with Kay’s help and encouraging advice, Noah’s feeling of hopelessness began to lessen. Using all the tools beholden to him as Kay’s big brother, Noah was somehow able to convince Kay to help him straighten up Beth’s place as both thanks and apology for bailing him out the night before, and less than an hour later, the pair found themselves in the Book Café seated at a tiny table for two looking outside at the passers-by of Harmony. Paloma had just topped off Noah’s and Kay’s (her second) coffee cups when Luis Lopez-Fitzgerald’s jeep pulled up outside.

Over the top of one of the bookshelves where she was unpacking and lining up the newest arrivals with Evan’s help, Beth caught Kay’s eye, the twinkle in her own eyes more than obvious. 

Sunglasses hiding his eyes, Luis stepped out of the jeep, standing tall and pulling a tablet from his back pocket. With pen in hand, he noted the car’s license plate number, scribbled out the violation, and placed the flimsy scrap of paper underneath one of the car’s windshield wipers. Then he strolled toward the Book Café, a look of controlled anger on his face, as he glanced in both directions, searching out the unfortunate owner of the vehicle. A firm hand pulled the door open, causing the bells strung along the edge to clang together forcefully, and all pairs of eyes in the Book Café landed upon him, save one. 

Paloma waved timidly to her older brother, her feet rooted to the floor beside where Kay and Noah were seated. 

“Luis,” Beth acknowledged. 

“Beth,” Luis replied, removing his sunglasses, folding them up, and tucking them into his pocket. His dark eyes traveled over each familiar face, some more so than others, until he found one face he didn’t recognize. 

Kay held her breath, watching Luis advance deeper into the establishment, toward an isolated table in the back that she hadn’t noticed until that precise moment. She strained to hear what was being said, but only the gist and the intent of the conversation was recognizable. Only when Luis had gone, his dark eyes turbulent, his movements tense but purposeful, did she chance a glance to satisfy her curiosity. 

Brown eyes twinkled back at her from a handsome face that still wore a superior smirk. 

It was a face Kay wouldn’t soon forget, and she knew, just knew even if Luis hadn’t already confirmed the knowledge for her, here was the owner of her dream car; he oozed attitude and arrogance and a surety about himself that Kay found herself envying, more than the sleek and beautiful car sitting outside. Though she wouldn’t officially meet him for several more days, she wouldn’t be able to easily forget that moment when their eyes first connected, a fact her best friend Simone would later gleefully use against her time and time again (she knew she should have never called her) when she would remind Kay of the day her life ceased to exist as she previously knew it, that day of homecoming, a day they’d all later refer to as simply, That day. 

Because it was the day the last of the lost Cranes, including one Mr. Fox Crane, found their way home, the day they started turning the little town of Harmony on its head.


	3. It's Been a While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her memories of this place were vague, far-away, like something of a half-forgotten dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Story, It's Been a While  
> Rating: PG   
> Warnings: Very (very) mild swearing, nudity (lol)  
> Characters/Pairings: Hank/Sam, Sheridan/Julian/Antonio, Gwen-Ivy-Crane daughters-Eve-Russell girls-Charity, Noah/Theresa, Beth-Evan-Grace-Luis  
> Word Count: 5,785  
> Summary (for chapter): Her memories of this place were vague, far-away, like something of a half-forgotten dream.

Chapter 2 

 

 

It’s Been Awhile 

 

 

On Hank Bennett’s third day back in town, he walked out of his bathroom, naked as the day he was born, toweling his hair dry, and came face to face with his big brother for the first time in over a year. Suffice it to say, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a throat cleared and a familiar voice spoke with just a little too much humor for Hank’s liking. 

“Nice to see you again, Little Brother.” Sam Bennett’s eyes were vivid and blue and twinkling with suppressed laughter. 

Deciding to hell with dignity (big brother had seen it all before), Hank calmly continued to tousle his hair and padded over to the closet where he’d only just arranged what little clothing he’d brought with him this trip home the night before. “Getting a little rusty aren’t you, Sam? Took you three days this time.” Pulling a plain white cotton tee over his head, Hank paid little attention to his brother as he finished dressing, only turning to face him again when his brown eyes couldn’t locate his shoes. Finding them at the foot of the bed where he’d toed them off the night before, conveniently at his brother’s feet, he regarded Sam’s now guarded expression and sighed more heavily than he’d meant to.

“I thought I’d give you a chance to come to me first.” 

Hank closed his eyes, uncomfortable with the judgment lacing such a simple collection of words. When he opened his eyes again, he forced a grim, apologetic smile in Sam’s direction. I’m sorry seemed to be called for, but the phrase lodged in his uncooperative throat, and he could only shrug. “I left you a pretty damn big clue, checking into Grace’s inn.” When Sam didn’t answer, Hank tried a different tactic, asking a question he genuinely wanted the answer to, “Where is my sister-in-law, by the way? Haven’t seen her around.” This time he was able to read the emotion in those blue eyes easily: worry. 

“Grace isn’t feeling well,” Sam answered, bending at the waist to snag Hank’s shoes in hand before rising from the mattress. “I had to threaten her with calling Eve, but I was finally able to convince her to take a few days rest for herself.” 

“Stubborn woman,” Hank said admiringly. Her apparent willingness to try any recipe out aside, the woman his brother had chosen to love, honor, and cherish for the rest of his days on earth inspired authentic affection in him. He took the shoes from Sam’s offered hand, claiming the vacated seat from the foot of the bed as his own. Looking up at Sam a moment later, he rest his hands upon his knees, his brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “If it wasn’t Grace, who ratted me out?” 

Sam’s lips quirked. “Beth.” 

Hank couldn’t help but smile himself and mutter under his breath, “Why am I not surprised?” 

“She’s a good friend doing what good friends do.” 

“She’s one of the best,” Hank readily agreed. “For what it’s worth,” he said, when they had left his small room behind with its antiques and fading flowered wallpaper and stood in the shading protection of the inn’s wraparound porch side by side, “I was going to call. Today, as a matter of fact.” 

“Today?” Sam lifted a skeptical brow. 

“Today,” Hank insisted. “To see if you wanted to grab some breakfast.” Glancing down at the watch on his wrist, he winced. “Well, lunch now. But I’m sure you’re busy so I’ll just get going.” He let his eyes linger meaningfully on the distinctively marked Harmony patrol car blocking his own rusted rental before he started down the steps. He stifled a groan when Sam’s arm shot out. 

“Not so fast.” 

Feeling oddly like a mischievous school boy awaiting punishment from his stern but loving dad, Hank waited for the other shoe to drop, having known from the moment Sam had seen him in his birthday suit glory that he wasn’t going to get off so easy as a hi, where have you been, see you around. 

Hands on his hips, Sam didn’t do anything to immediately alleviate his kid brother’s anxiety. On the contrary, he rather enjoyed watching him squirm. After what he had put his family through, no word or sight of him for months on end, it was the least he deserved. Still, he was his little brother, and he was home for the first time in many long months. Softening enough to smile, Sam extended an invitation. “I was thinking—if Grace feels up to it—you could meet us at The Shack for a little dinner, tell us what you’ve been up to this past year.” 

“Voluntarily or through interrogation?” Hank quipped. Before Sam could accuse him of going too far with his joke, he hurried to accept, with a wink, of course, “Who am I to turn down a free meal?” 

Sam responded by rolling his eyes and clearing the steps, two at a time, to his car. “Seven sound okay to you?” 

“Seven sounds great,” Hank tossed back. “Sure I can stay out of trouble that long?” 

Taking in his affable grin and the devilish twinkle in his eyes, Sam shook his head, taking a seat behind the wheel. Still the same old Hank. “Why don’t you bring Beth and Evan? I’m sure Grace won’t mind.” 

Not a bad idea, Sammy. Not a bad idea, Hank thought to himself, waving at his brother as he carefully backed out into the street. With that in mind, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number that no matter where his life took him he remembered by heart. Evan answered, in a voice too grown up to belong to the little boy he recalled cradling just hours after his birth. Taking a deep breath, Hank spoke, “Hey, kidlet. Put your mom on the phone.” 

 

~*~ 

 

“Maria said I’d find you out here.” 

Arms wrapped protectively around her middle, Sheridan Crane turned to face her brother, the supportive beam of the gazebo at her back. Despite a mighty effort, the smile on her face was wan, and she knew from the look on Julian’s face that he could see right through it, straight to her misgivings. Turning back around, she surveyed the landscape that stretched in every direction she turned, the acres that made up what had been her home for the first ten years of her life, and looked for some familiarity, finding little. “It’s so different than I remember,” she finally whispered, resting her chin on her shoulder as she regarded her brother again, now shoulder to shoulder with her. 

“It’s been a long time,” Julian responded, in a voice just as quiet. He lay his hand on the railing, awkwardly enfolding the smaller one that joined it mere seconds later in his own. “Things look like a lot different to a child. Bigger.” 

“Scarier,” Sheridan murmured, dropping her head to study their hands. She didn’t know why she had said that; her memories of this place were vague, far-away, like something of a half-forgotten dream. Hazy sensations, fleeting feelings were all she retained. She felt the magnitude of her brother’s stare but ignored it, swallowing her emotions down when he began to speak again. 

“You have nothing to fear here, Sheridan. Surely you know that.” 

Shoring up her resolve, Sheridan rewarded him with a smile, lovely and full of the love her brother had never been comfortable accepting from her. “I know.” 

Noting the bruised shadows under her troubled blue eyes, Julian had to wonder about her truthfulness, but he made a vow to himself not to let her have any reason to worry that he himself could prevent. “Yesterday was such a surprise. I didn’t think you were coming until the wedding.” 

“I hope it was a good surprise.” This time, Sheridan’s eyes positively danced, and she squeezed his hand reassuringly in hers when Julian seemed at a loss for words. “It was Gwen’s idea. Think of me as an early wedding present for Ethan.” 

“Thank God you didn’t show up wearing a ridiculously large red bow,” Julian shuddered, carefully disengaging their hands. 

From lowered lashes, Sheridan laughed quietly at her brother’s reaction. This was more like it, more like the brother she knew. She felt herself relax somewhat, the tension melting away from her shoulders until she felt brave enough to ask a question that had been plaguing her, ever since she and Ethan had passed the lonesome foreman’s house on their way home the previous evening. “What happened to Pilar? What became of her children?” 

“Oh, they’re still around.” 

Whirling around at the sound of a new voice, Sheridan’s mouth dropped open at her own obtuseness when faced again with the man from the airstrip. With the sunglasses gone and the smirk in place, the nagging feeling of familiarity she’d felt around him yesterday began to coalesce into coherency. The syllables felt foreign in her mouth, but as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place, she had to try them on for size. “Antonio? Is that really you?” 

Antonio simply smiled while Julian did the honors of reintroducing them. The pretty little girl that he’d taken great delight in teasing had grown into a beautiful woman since the last time he’d seen her, on a dark and stormy night fifteen years ago. 

“Mr. Lopez-Fitzgerald is still a trusted employee of mine.” 

“And your mother?” Sheridan questioned, taking a step closer, almost forgetting Julian’s presence. “She’s still…” 

“Mama’s still got her hands full,” Antonio rushed to assure her, intuitively guessing at her unspoken worries. “Theresa’s just graduated, got her head in the clouds, wanting to be a hotshot fashion designer. Miguel and Paloma are in high school.” 

Sheridan’s blue eyes brightened. “So the baby…it was a girl?” 

Antonio nodded, smiling wistfully at the thought of the little sister he didn’t know as well as he should. That baby was almost grown. His eyes connected with Julian’s briefly, and he read in the other man’s expression the longing for the years lost to them. His gaze was drawn helplessly back to Sheridan’s with the tentative touch of her hand on his forearm. 

“And your other brother?” 

Luis, Antonio thought, warring emotions for his brother competing for the upper hand—love, resentment, pride, anger, regret too painful to speak of. Fate had wrought a wicked hand, pitting them on opposite sides in many battles during their lives, but the bond of blood remained. Yet, Antonio struggled to voice an answer for her. It was Julian who satisfied Sheridan’s curiosity, reminding them both of his presence with a droll and timely remark. 

“Luis Lopez-Fitzgerald serves as one of Harmony’s finest.” When Sheridan’s eyes widened, he added a rejoinder, “Don’t believe me? I’ve got your nephew’s parking ticket on my desk to prove it.” 

Fox was Ethan’s opposite in almost every way, sometimes amusingly so, and while Sheridan didn’t approve of his more blatant acts against authority, she believed him to be generally harmless, if not a bit of a challenge. Her lips pursed with the effort of holding back laughter but the attempt was futile when she noticed the reluctant humor in Antonio’s own dark gaze. “Something tells me Luis is going to have his hands full this summer.” 

“I sincerely hope not,” Julian groused. 

The significant look exchanged between the two men went unnoticed by Sheridan. 

“I should get going,” Julian announced, “make sure my son doesn’t successfully deplete his trust fund by noon, and leave you two to your reminiscing.” 

The pair watched him leave, and when only they remained, Sheridan regarded Antonio with a winsome smile. “He’s right you know.” She continued when Antonio merely raised a brow in response. “We have a lot to catch up on.” 

 

~*~ 

 

Harmony was a small town. It wasn’t New York, and it certainly wasn’t Paris; a fact Ivy Crane was made all the more aware of as she played the part of gracious hostess to her future daughter-in-law, giving her the grand tour as it were. They had already stopped at the quaint little coffee shop (she readily admitted all Crane women were less bitchy with a little caffeine coursing through their veins), admired the rustic charm of the town’s sole inn, and looked at each other with varying degrees of horror and amusement when they happened upon an establishment appropriately named The Shack—those were the highlights of the tour thus far—when morbid curiosity (what else could it have been, really?) had prompted Pretty to suggest window shopping. How window shopping had evolved into actual shopping Ivy couldn’t begin to explain. Neither could she rationalize whatever had possessed her to set foot in her current location, a consignment shop of all places! 

“Excuse me. Is there anything in particular you were looking for?” 

Barely managing to disguise her distaste, Ivy looked up, searching for the owner of the saccharine voice and finding her in the form of a slender blond teen wearing a pleasant smile. She suppressed a grimace at the child’s peasant blouse and long, dreadfully out of fashion skirt (it accounted for so much) and started to answer, but Gwen beat her to the punch. 

“We’re just having a look around.” 

“Well, if you need anything, just let me know,” the girl answered sweetly, clasping her hands. “I’m Charity.” 

“I’m Gwen,” Gwen introduced herself, smiling her thanks. “We’ll be sure to call on you if we need anything.” 

“Well,” Ivy expelled a breath when the girl had gone, leaving them alone. “You handled that much better than I would have, I’m afraid.” Giving their surroundings another quick, cursory glance, she offered Gwen an apologetic smile. “I know this isn’t quite what you’re accustomed to. Harmony is abysmally small. Are you certain you and Ethan want to have your wedding here?” 

A smile lifted the corners of Gwen’s mouth, and she thoughtfully but truthfully answered Ivy’s question, “I admit I had my misgivings at first. But Ethan likes to think of this wedding as a homecoming of sorts, a way to bring the family together again, and I wouldn’t take that away from him for the world.” Ivy’s sudden embrace initially catching her off-guard, Gwen gradually relaxed, hugging the older woman back. 

“Thank you,” Ivy murmured, “for caring so much about my son.” 

“I’m the lucky one,” Gwen protested when Ivy released her. “Your son is such a kind man, a great friend, and I love him very much.” 

“Oh please,” Fancy joined them, groaning and fitting her arms across her middle, “as if my brother is God’s gift to women.” Looking at Ivy beseechingly, Fancy whined, “Mother, I can’t take much more of this insufferable place.” 

Ivy’s response was barely audible but just as impassioned. “Neither can I, Darling.” More loudly, she instructed, “Find your sister. Tell her we’re leaving.” To Gwen, she smiled, “This town’s only saving grace is The Seascape. I thought we might enjoy a bit of lunch before we leave.” 

“The Seascape?” Gwen asked curiously. “But…” 

“We’re miles from any ocean,” Ivy answered her unasked question. “It’s just one of the many oddities of Harmony, Darling. It’s been told that the founders of this town were transplanted from New England, though why they didn’t just return home instead of trying to make this place into something it could never be, it’s hard to fathom.” 

Fancy returned with Pretty in tow, the latter clutching a bag in her hands. 

“Pretty, you can’t possibly be serious,” Ivy chastised. “You have enough bags, designer bags, without buying one at a second-hand shop,” she hissed.

“Don’t be such a snob, Mother,” Pretty pouted. “It’s brand-new, made by a local Harmony designer.” 

Ivy looked at the bag with new eyes but was only minimally impressed. The cutesy, funky design was too juvenile for her tastes. “Pretty, I don’t think…” She was interrupted by Charity’s return, along with a woman Ivy had successfully avoided for much of her marriage to Julian, Eve Russell, and two young girls she could only assume were the good doctor’s daughters. 

“Those bags are selling really well,” Charity stated. “You’re holding the last one.” 

“May I see?” Gwen held out her hand. Inspecting it, she found a small labeled stitched to the inside, one that read, “Fate Creations, by TLF.” She handed the bag back to Pretty. “I think it’s adorable.” 

“Who’s TLF?” Fancy queried. And why do those initials strike such a strong chord of familiarity, she wondered to herself. Where could she have possibly heard of Fate Creations? 

“TLF is Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald, my best friend,” the older girl answered softly, appearing uncomfortable with having everyone’s undivided attention focused on her. 

“Lopez-Fitzgerald,” Pretty repeated the name, her brow furrowing in confusion as she looked from the girl to her own mother and back again. “Where have I heard that name before?” 

“Pretty,” Ivy murmured lowly. 

Eve Russell finally broke her silence, addressing Ivy directly. “I think it’s best they hear it from you.” 

Ivy blanched, and it didn’t escape Gwen’s notice how Fancy stepped protectively close to her younger sister when Pretty repeated her question, adding an additional entreaty.

“Hear what, Mother?” 

Taking a deep breath, Ivy told the girls, “The Lopez-Fitzgeralds, Theresa’s parents, worked for the Cranes for many years.” 

“I don’t understand,” Pretty shook her head slowly, her brown eyes growing troubled as they gazed upon her mother’s pale face then down to her fingers, clenched white-knuckled around her purse strap. “They used to work for us. Now they don’t. It happens all the time.” Turning to face Fancy and Gwen, she tried to joke, “If they only knew how many nannies we went through, right Fancy? Mother, it isn’t a big deal.” She smiled encouragingly at her mother, but her mother wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Mother?” 

Withdrawing her wallet, Ivy presented Pretty with a credit card and instructed, “Go pay for the purse.” 

“But…” Pretty glared at her older sister when Fancy none-too-gently pushed her forward. The two girls followed Charity to the back of the store to take care of their purchase. 

“Whitney, Simone,” Eve prompted her daughters to follow their example, leaving her alone with Ivy and Gwen, “I’ll be right there.” 

Gwen cleared her throat awkwardly. “I think I’ll step out, get some air.” 

“Absolutely, Darling,” Ivy’s reassuring smile was forced. “We won’t be long.” Only when she was sure they were alone did she drop all false pretenses, regarding Eve with eyes as cool and flinty as steel. “I would think you, of all people, would want to leave the past well enough alone.” Her words produced a pleasing flinch. 

Noticing her daughters lingering nearby uncertainly, Eve couldn’t muster a response; she merely stared at Ivy with tortured eyes as the other woman turned to go, heels clicking behind her until she paused, issuing a warning. 

“Just a reminder…if you ever try something like this again,” Ivy avowed, “you’re in this, just as deep as I am.” 

 

 

~*~ 

 

 

The first step to winning Fancy back is getting a job. You want to meet her family? Get a job like a responsible adult. 

Pulling at the constricting tie around his neck, Noah cursed his little sister and her so-called wisdom, wondering not for the first time, why he was even following her advice. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She had one year of high school left, a fact which she’d gleefully reminded him of several times in the past two days, and she’d never even dated a guy seriously. Reese Durkee didn’t count—that relationship was completely one-sided. And Miguel—well, as far as Noah could tell, Miguel was totally blind to the fact that his good pal Kay was actually a girl. All of which begged the question: why was he listening to her again? Tugging at his tie one more time, he shifted miserably in the uncomfortable plastic chair he’d been seated in for the last half hour (you’d think a swanky, upscale place like The Seascape could afford better) and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. 

“Noah? Noah Bennett? Is that really you?” 

Noah smiled without opening his eyes. He’d know that voice and that infectious excitement anywhere. It could only be one person. “Please don’t tell me you’re the competition.” He cracked one silver blue eye open, grinning as she came fully into his field of vision, barely over five feet tall with a mega-wattage smile. “You’re way prettier than me. I might as well quit while I’m ahead.”

Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald giggled, sliding into the seat opposite him, with her purse and resume in hand. “Paloma told me you were home.” 

“Let me guess,” Noah began, knowing exactly how Paloma had come across the information. Between the two of them, his sisters run a regular grapevine in Harmony. “Jess told her.” 

“That’s what sisters are for,” Theresa said by way of answer. “Besides, she saw you at the Book Café.” 

“Yeah,” Noah agreed with a wry smile. Settling more comfortably in his chair (at least to the extent he was able to), he queried, “What gives? I thought you’d be on the first plane out of here to New York once you graduated. That was the plan, wasn’t it?” 

“There’s a little thing called money. You might have heard of it,” Theresa’s large brown eyes twinkled at him. “I don’t have a lot of it.”

“In case you haven’t figured it out, I don’t either,” Noah told her, admiring her good humor about the situation. “Else I wouldn’t be here.” 

“This is my third interview today,” Theresa expelled a weary sigh, combing her fingers through her mane of mahogany hair. “The seventh in the last two days. I always thought it’d be easy, but it isn’t. At this rate, I’m never going to make enough money to cover my room, forget extras like food.” 

Noah felt guilty then. His parents weren’t rich, hardly. But they made a comfortable living, more than adequate to take care of him and his sisters. He’d never wanted for anything. Hell, even college had been simple thus far for him, paid for with scholarship money. Any jobs he’d taken had been to have a little extra spending money, not to have enough money to simply survive and achieve his dreams. “But you did get a scholarship?” 

“Tuition only,” Theresa squeezed her fingers together. “And that plane to New York? Will probably be a bus.” 

“I don’t much like flying anyway,” Noah shrugged. “Buses aren’t that bad, took one home this time. Just don’t sit in the back,” he advised, thankful when his subtle warning wrangled another smile from her. He looked at her uneasily when she continued to smile at him, the sparkle in those luminous eyes returning ten-fold. Groaning, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “What else did my busybody little sister tell Paloma?”

“Nothing,” Theresa hedged. Then quickly, under her breath, “Only that you had a girlfriend.” Practically giddy, she scooted forward in her chair, her voice almost a whisper, “I knew those earrings weren’t for your mother.” 

“Had being the operative word,” Noah sighed, reminded anew of Fancy and the knot that had been in his belly since their argument not even a week ago. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me right now.” 

“Oh, Noah,” Theresa’s bright eyes dimmed, and she placed a consoling hand on top of his own, resting on his knee. “I’m so sorry. What happened?” 

Shaking his head slightly, still in disbelief, Noah spilled his guts to her, without really knowing why. Maybe it was her kind words, her gentle touch, knowing she wouldn’t use anything he said against him, or maybe he just needed another woman’s perspective beside that of his kid sister. “Tell me if I’m wrong here. I thought most girls took it as a good sign if the guy they were with asked to meet the family.” 

Theresa nodded, “If they’re really into the guy.” 

“She was,” Noah said. “At least I thought she was.” 

“She has to be,” Theresa encouraged him. “You’re…Noah.” 

Noah grinned. “And that’s a good thing?” 

“That’s a very good thing,” Theresa promised him. On the chair beside her, a muffled song started to play, and digging through her cluttered purse to locate her phone, she felt the need to defend her choice in ring-tone when Noah started chuckling softly, “Sometimes I need the inspiration.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Noah fought to keep a straight face, finally quieting down when Theresa found her phone, answering it and growing more excited with each passing second until the call was over and she had disconnected. “I take it you just won the lottery,” Noah guessed. 

“Close,” Theresa beamed at him. “I got a job. One of the girls at The Shack just quit, leaving them even more short-handed than before. I start tonight.” 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Noah asked. “Get going or you’ll be late.” He stood up, helping her gather her things, and cupped her elbow in his hand when she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I know people usually say break a leg in this situation, but as I remember it, you weren’t exactly Ms. Graceful in school,” he teased as she pulled back, “so whatever you do, don’t do that.” 

Theresa rolled her eyes at him but stood on tiptoe to kiss his other cheek, whispering into his ear. “She’ll come around.” 

“Theresa?” Noah called, just before she was out of earshot. 

Theresa looked at him expectantly, knowing something was up by the smirk that painted his lips and the wicked twinkle in his eyes. 

“Don’t stop believing.” 

 

 

~*~ 

 

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Beth fretted, fingering the tiny coffee stain bordering the hem of her shirt and the right pocket of her jeans. “My clothes are stained, I’m not positive but I think my make-up’s completely gone now, and my hair is an absolute mess. Forget Ev’s.” 

“Mom,” Evan protested when his mother tried to tame his unruly hair. The stubborn black strands refused to cooperate, and the result left the child looking like he had just crawled out of bed, rumpled practice clothes and all. The only thing missing was the baseball glove, but his mom had managed to win that victory, promising Evan she’d take him to the carnival expected to be in town at the end of the month. 

“C’mere,” Beth beckoned, running a finger underneath the collar of her son’s Nike tee-shirt. “You have a ring of dirt around your neck. I thought you said you washed up. Hank,” she accused. “You said he washed up.” 

Hank winced at her expression. “Practice ran a little bit late so we only had time to wash the important bits, like the hands and face.”

Beth stopped in her tracks, giving him a look that could kill. 

“Relax,” Hank poured on the charm. “You look as pretty as ever.” When that softened her up, he couldn’t resist adding, “It’s not like the lighting in The Shack is the best or anything.” 

“And just like that,” Beth remarked dryly, “the brownie points are gone.” 

“You really should think before you talk, Uncle Hank,” Evan told him helpfully. 

“Wise guy,” Hank tugged playfully at the boy’s earlobe, causing him to giggle and squirm away from him, folding into his mother’s side for a brief moment, before he remembered his age (nine year olds acted much more mature) and pulled away, straightening and walking tall. “Everybody ready?” he asked, when they found themselves in front of the restaurant with two minutes to spare.

Beth smirked at him, raising a brow in challenge and finally prompting him, “Be a gentleman, Hank. Open the door.” 

Hank was a gentleman, opening the door and pulling out Beth’s seat when they found themselves at the table with Sam and Grace and someone totally unexpected: Luis. “Luis, Buddy,” Hank pulled the other man into a brotherly hug, “long time no see.” Glancing down at his older brother, he said, “You still manage to surprise me sometimes, Sammy.” Leaning down to kiss Grace’s cool cheek, his brown eyes softened with unspoken affection before he whispered, softly so only Grace could hear, “Good to see you’re feeling better.”

“Sit down, Little Brother,” Sam ordered good-naturedly, “and quit hitting on my wife.” 

Hank did as requested, eyes flitting to Beth when he noticed Evan had virtually glued himself to Luis’s side. When Beth smiled at him, Hank relaxed enough to tease his brother, “One of these days, Sammy, Grace is going to wise up and leave you for me.” 

Grace laughed softly, twin spots of color appearing on her fair skin just above her cheeks when Hank winked at her. 

The jokes continued, and gradually, everyone, including Luis, loosened up. At least until their waitress appeared to ask their orders, shadowed by none other than Theresa. 

Theresa offered them a brief, nervous smile, then she launched into a practiced, rote speech about the evening’s specials. Her hands shook slightly, but by the time she’d spoken to Evan and taken down his order, she’d calmed down considerably, enough to offer them a bonafide Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald smile. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” 

“I didn’t know Theresa was working here,” Grace remarked. 

“Neither did I,” Luis replied. 

Beside Luis, Evan toyed with his linen napkin, unrolling it and making his silverware clatter across the table. When his fork hit the floor and the boy’s dark head disappeared momentarily beneath the table, Beth lightly scolded him. 

“Evan.” 

“Sorry,” Evan mumbled, looking contrite for about two seconds before he was at it again, making Hank and the rest of the adults, save for Luis, smile. 

It seemed his good buddy Luis was preoccupied, Hank decided. He knew how involved Luis had always been (and still was currently by the looks of it) in his younger brother’s and sisters’ lives, and he knew how difficult it was for him to let go, allowing them to make decisions independently without his input. By way of reassuring his friend, Hank pointed out one of the finer points of being employed at The Shack. “It sure beats The Chicken Hut,” he grinned, referencing the fast food mecca for poultry lovers in Harmony, the first establishment to cut him an official check back when he was a teen. What little had been left after taxes had been spent on the gas to take Beth on a disastrous non-date to the drive-in theater the next town over. She and Luis had been on a break—his family had always been able to count on Luis—and Hank could think of no one else he more wanted to treat or impress. Instead, what ensued that night was a comedy of errors neither would soon forget, a lesson of a lifetime learned—thou shalt not make a move on thy best friend’s girl. Hank’s grin widened when Beth giggled into her napkin. “Chicken just hasn’t been the same since.” Sam and Grace, and even Luis to an extent, looked amused, but none of them really got the private joke, and Hank abandoned the thread for another one. “Bigger tippers here.” 

“Tip her for the job she does,” Luis warned, “not for who she is.”

Hank knew his friend’s integrity dictated his beliefs, but sometimes he couldn’t help feeling he was a little too hard-nosed, a little too unforgiving. He was rescued from opening his big mouth to say the wrong thing by his brother, of all people.

“I’m sure she’ll do fine.” Sam smiled at Theresa when she returned with their tray of drinks, carefully setting his iced tea in front of him. One by one, she handed out the beverages and the accompanying straws and left to see about their food. “I just hope the same goes for Noah.” 

“He got the job at The Seascape,” Grace explained. 

“I hope they’re paying him enough,” Luis remarked, taking a healthy drag from his glass. “I wouldn’t want to spend my summer catering to those spoiled rich types.” 

Hank knew Luis’s beef wasn’t with those spoiled rich types as he called them, at least not in general. No, Hank had a pretty good idea what the bug up his friend’s ass was, and he winced when Grace unwittingly stirred the pot with her next comment. 

“Eve told me she run into Ivy Crane and her daughters in town today.” Though she was addressing Beth, Luis quickly interjected, his words more of a discontented growl than anything. 

“They’re back, all right—the whole lot of them, and already up to no good.” 

Beth had told Hank all about Luis’s own encounter with one of the newly returned Cranes, and frankly, Hank thought Luis’s anger was disproportionate to the so-called crime. But Luis carried with him more than a decade of doubt and distrust where the Crane family was concerned, some of it, Hank had to admit, well-justified. He wanted to issue a well-meaning Chill out but didn’t want to step on Luis’s toes. Thankfully, Sam took the matter out of his hands again. 

“Do your job, Luis. Nothing more, nothing less.” Sam recalled the splashy write-up in this morning’s Harmony Herald about the nuptials planned for the end of the summer between Ethan Crane and his fiancée Gwen Hotchkiss and hoped to appease Luis’s edginess by telling him, “The wedding’s at the end of the summer. That’s less than two months away. We just have to find some way to coexist peacefully in the meantime.” Feeling Grace’s blue gaze on him, Sam knew his attitude came as a surprise to her, but to his way of thinking, the past was firmly rooted in the past. Grace was his present and his future; Ivy Crane being back in Harmony for little more than two months wasn’t going to change that. 

Their food arrived, and the pervasive tension that had plagued Luis, and Sam to a smaller extent, seemed to evaporate in the face of Evan’s hearty exclamation of joy and the gusto with which he attacked his meal (as only a growing little boy can). The child reluctantly paused long enough for Sam to utter a quick passage of thanks, and the conversation turned to lighter things, and the scowls and furrows of worry morphed into smiles. 

Sitting back, watching his family and his friends, Hank sent up a quick prayer himself and hoped that the Big Guy was listening, because only one thing was certain to him: it was gonna be a helluva summer.


End file.
